Seven days each...”). All rights reserved. The uncanny last will and testament that was the entirety of Blackstar – a ticking clock of a record that shape-shifted into something else entirely when Bowie passed away three days after its release? The American is an accomplished singer-songwriter, has a handful of albums under his belt, and was previously described by The New York Times as a local folk-pop hero in Denver’s close-knit music scene. Father Lucifer was further inspired by visions she had received whilst taking peyote with a South American shaman. The effect is something like multiple YouTube videos accidentally playing at once, a restless mind making gorgeous chaos—the work of a true perfectionist. The mainstream, it turned out, was in a similar headspace: riding an uptown funk renaissance, high on weird production and flirting shamelessly with soft rock. True, the lyrics spew and coo and, written down, resemble something Robbie Williams might croon on his way back from the tattoo parlour (“And I don't believe in the existence of angels /But looking at you I wonder if that's true”). If Kevin Parker appears relaxed, then perhaps that’s because he is. You might think you recognize the acoustic riff circling early-’70s soul-cruiser “Tomorrow’s Dust,” or the ascendant piano line in the ’90s-via-the-’70s R&B jam “Breathe Deeper,” but what you are most likely hearing is Parker’s gift for crafting classic parts. Blur waxing clever, winking at Martin Amis etc, could never hold a candle to Oasis being gleefully boneheaded. Underworld never wanted to be stars and actively campaigned against the release of their contribution to the Trainspotting score as a single. It’s one of the most coruscating anti-love songs of recent history – and a reminder that, Mumford and Sons notwithstanding – the mid 2000s nu-folk scene wasn’t quite the hellish fandango posterity has deemed it. I have to marvel that all this sound and history comes from Parker alone, picking every string and twisting every knob. The lyrics are supremely economical – just the chorus repeated over and over, really. I volunteered to review Tame Impala’s The Slow Rush with a ton of excitement. RO, “She comes back to tell me she's gone/ As if I didn't know that/ As if I didn't know my own bed.” With contributions from Ladysmith Black Mambazo and the Boyoyo Boys, Simon’s 1986 masterpiece album is regarded nowadays as a landmark interweaving of world music and pop. Springsteen was at that time engaged to actress/model Julianne Phillips though he had already experienced a connection to his future wife Patti Scialfa, recently joined the E-Street Band as a backing singer. 8/10, Sep 04, 2020 Something about the stickiness of it, the memory of one track bleeding into another, isn’t as apparent as on his previous work. All Apologies – a mea culpa howled from the precipice – was directed to his wife, Courtney Love, and their baby daughter, Frances Bean. He seems to locate it in the quietest moments of the album’s show-stopping seven-minute closer, “One More Hour.” “As long as I can, as long as I can spend some time alone,” he sings atop steady piano chords, the barest he’s sounded all record (and still drowning in echo). But the Satanic majesty also flows from the lyrics – which spoke to the pandemonium of the era and the sense that civilisation could come crashing in at any moment. She died three months before Cohen, in July 2016. “Or the time that I had Mick Jagger on the phone.” These are sweet lines that anyone who has accomplished something after the death of a parent can relate to. The slowly unfolding “On Track,” built around piano and organ, seems to be about the endless wait for Mr. Parker’s new album and the pressure he felt to follow “Currents.” It’s his attempt to cheer himself up—he may feel like a loser for falling so far behind, but by most measures he’s doing OK. “Strictly speaking, I’m still on track,” he sings, and the odd use of “strictly speaking” is funny, exactly the sort of thing one might say to oneself during a pep talk. (A non-album track that came out last March was called, knowingly, Patience.) Lost in Yesterday has the vaguest hints of Michael Jackson’s Wanna Be Startin’ Something as Parker somehow makes airy, almost weightless songs hit home with the melodic ruthlessness of a pop factory. But surely there has never been a more perfect collection of couplets than that contained in their 1982 opus. Thus the portents of the song do not require deep scrutiny, as lust and yearning are blended into one of the most combustible cocktails in mainstream rock. RO, “If I want to see the tears in your eyes/ Then I know it had to be/ Long ago, actually in the drifting white snow/You loved me.” Piano-man Wainwright can be too ornate for his own good. Mar 23, 2020 EP, "Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn/ Suicide remarks are torn/ From the fool's gold mouthpiece/ The hollow horn plays wasted words/ Proves to warn that he not busy being born/ Is busy dying." “Will I be known and loved?” he wonders on Borderline. (Fiction) Perth’s disco dork returns after a four-year hiatus with an album that finds existential meaning in genre-surfing dance music, Fri 14 Feb 2020 04.00 EST Is this a shortcoming of the album itself? RO, “Digital witnesses/ what’s the point of even sleeping?/ If I can’t show it, if you can’t see me/ What’s the point of doing anything?” One of the best songs written about the illusory intimacy fostered the internet. It’s less “I’d take a bullet for you” and more “put the kettle on, love”. It’s the delivery, husky, hokey, all-believing that brings them to life. He’s gushing all right, but like lava from a volcano, about to burn all before it. This makes it easier to skip around, and this makes those singles feel more like singles. “The Slow Rush,” a sonic masterpiece that builds on Mr. Parker’s strengths, should buy him a few years of goodwill. Ever better, and from the same Floodlands album was “This Corrosion” – a track more epic than watching all three Lord the Rings movies from the top of Mount Everest. The fastidious Tame Impala mastermind often copes with his self-isolation and doubt through stonerisms, highly portable mantras like “let it happen” and “yes I’m changing” and “gotta be above it” (said three times fast to ward off bad vibes). Before that, there is poetry. 52 weeks! The great pop bromance of our times came crashing down shortly after Carl Barât and Pete Doherty slung their arms around each others shoulders and delivered this incredible platonic love song. Posthumous Forgiveness dissects their troubled relationship with unflinching candour and small child’s excitement (“I wish I could tell you about the time I had Mick Jagger on the phone”). By Jim Scot “It’s Alright Ma” is a cornerstone in Dylan’s career that marks his shift from scrutinising politics to sardonically exposing all the hypocrisy in Western culture. But there’s a howl of pain woven deep into the song’s fabric, so that the larking is underpinned with a lingering unease. The meta horror movie of Ashes to Ashes? So you have “Cloudbusting”, about the relationship between psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich and his son, Peter, the latter of whom Bush inhabits with disarming tenderness. EP, “First you get a swimming pool full of liquor, then you dive in it/ Pool full of liquor, then you dive in it/ I wave a few bottles, then I watch 'em all flock”. As the lyrics attest, they ultimately passed like ships in a long, sad night. It’s adorable, full of whimsy, and just the right amount of silly. She snarls and shrieks as though her vocal chords might rip. Parker embraced the expansive possibilities of electronics, of the dancefloor, of popularity. The giddy Instant Destiny imagines “do[ing] something crazy”: buying a house in Miami and getting married – the latter of which Parker did earlier this year. Do most people do this? EP, “She done it with a doctor on a helicopter/ She's sniffin in her tissue/ Sellin' the Big Issue.” There is shameless revisionism and then there is claiming that Noel Gallagher is a great lyricist. The opening half of And It’s Still Alright is pleasant enough. EP, “I’m losing my edge / To all the kids in Tokyo and Berlin / I'm losing my edge to the art-school Brooklynites in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered Eighties.” One of the best songs ever written about ageing and being forced to make peace with the person you are becoming. At the same time, this progenitor of the 00s revival in psychedelic rock was also outgrowing his early sound, a monomaniacal stoner guitar fuzz. (official.tameimpala.com). The Slow Rush is an apt name. The falsetto-led melody that opens early-album victory lap, “Instant Destiny,” feels incessant and cloistered until the song opens up a bit, thanks in part to a luxe xylophone break.
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